Tension
by averita
Summary: The back of his hand brushed against hers, and she looked at him for a split second before turning away, eyes shining once more. Adama/Roslin


Tom watched from the bar as Ellen pulled her husband onto the dance floor, leaving the Commander alone at his table. Several moments passed as Adama scanned the room. Their eyes landed on Roslin at the same time.

She, too, was sitting alone, sipping on a drink, cheeks flushed. She hadn't been dancing, Tom was sure. Baltar's victory - _her _victory - had her smiling to herself, as though privy to a secret the rest of them could only hope to know. There was a new bounce to her step, a confidence in her voice that had manifested itself more heavily than ever during their brief conversation. _Don't worry. I won't be kissing you today._

As Adama approached her, Tom registered the surprise in her eyes and frowned to himself. They were getting close - that much was clear in the way Adama angled himself towards the president, standing just a little closer than he might have a week ago. And when he led her onto the dance floor, that secret smile of hers grew just a little shyer.

He would have to keep an eye on this. Difficult, considering he wouldn't be allowed to set foot on Galactica, but - Tom caught Ellen's eye over her husband's shoulder - he had a way of getting what he wanted.

--

Lee Adama stared at him.

"My - my father's back?"

No, they couldn't trust him, Tom was sure of it. He had supported Roslin and even helped her escape, but divided loyalties, no matter how uneven, had a way of blurring down the middle. Adama was alive, that was fine, but back in command...

A sigh from the back of the room caught his attention and Tom looked up to see Roslin looking as relieved as Apollo. A grin gracing her lips, she murmured "He's a tough old bird," sounding almost proud.

Meier caught his eye, looking bewildered. Tom shrugged a shoulder. It didn't feel worth investigating - there was no way to understand how Roslin and Adama had gone from dancing closer than any president and commander had a right to, to staring at each other from behind bars. Hell, he wasn't completely sure how he had wound up standing in a meat locker with Laura Roslin, the so-called prophet of the gods, plotting to break the fleet in two. But he was here. Roslin was depending on him, and he would deliver, not because it was the right thing to do but because she would owe him one. And damned if Adama was going to get in the way of that.

--

They trudged along the muddy trail, shoes splattered with dirt and wet clothes sticking to skin. Every few steps someone would stumble; everyone but the cylon, who navigated the hilly terrain as though she would her own home. Tom didn't care - the last time he had felt sunlight on his skin was nearly a week before the attacks, moments before being escorted to yet another cell on yet another ship. Cloud Nine didn't compare.

Thrace, Apollo, and the president's aide were behind him, and every so often Meier would glance back. Tom wasn't sure why he was so hellbent on killing the commander's son, especially now that the original point was moot - Adama was back, a few steps in front of him, talking quietly with the president. He had seen them earlier, in Roslin's tent. The tension in her shoulders had been evident, but from the moment the commander had arrived, the lines that had been etched so deeply into her skin had lessened.

Adama coughed, slowing his pace but not stopping until Roslin laid a hand on his arm. "Are you all right?" she said, concern lacing her tone.

"I'm fine," he grunted.

Roslin raised an eyebrow, beginning to walk again, steps deliberate and not as fast as before. Tom slowed his pace accordingly, listening. "Take it easy, will you?" she asked. "I'm really not up for explaining to your crew how their old man dropped dead in his attempt to reel in the wayward president."

"At least I'll have a damn good resting place," Adama snorted. "Not many people can say they share a tomb with a god."

The humor was evident in his voice, but Roslin frowned. "That's not funny, Bill," she snapped. "Losing you for a week left the fleet in turmoil. I don't even want to think about what would happen if you - if Tigh took command permanantly."

Adama turned his head to face her. "Laura, I'm fine," he said seriously. She studied him for a long moment before nodding once and turning away, tucking a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear. "You really think I'm going to make Tigh deal with you on a daily basis?" he added, raising an eyebrow at her. Roslin shot him a sideways glare before biting her lip and shaking her head.

--

The room erupted the moment Roslin entered, closely followed by Adama and her aide. She was dressed in one of the three suits she always wore, perched in a pair of heels, looking very bit the role of President of the Twelve Colonies. One week ago she had been tucked away in Galactica's sickbay, fighting for breath and unable to move without assistance.

Adama pulled out her chair for her and she shot him a grateful smile, but when he moved to help her sit, she shook her head and settled herself. One by one, the members of the Quorum followed suit, and began to settle down.

"Good afternoon," Roslin began, and the last of the whispers died away. "Let's cut to the chase, you know why I called this meeting. Six days ago, I underwent a high-risk experimental treatment as a last resort in fighting my cancer. As you can see, it appears to have worked, at least for the moment. Dr. Cottle isn't sure how long, or if, that will last. However, as of right now, my cancer is gone."

The murmurs started up again, and Tom shot a look at Adama, who never attended these meetings if he could help it. In the past he had been loathe to allow them to even take place aboard Galactica, but Cottle had refused to allow Roslin leave the ship. The admiral looked as surly as ever, but what could have been a smile twitched at his lips as Roslin raised a hand.

"Unfortunately, during the last days of my illness, I allowed myself to fall behind. That means we have a lot of catch up to do. The first item I'd like to discuss is the distribution of the remaining -"

"Madame President," Sarah Porter interrupted. "What kind of treatment did you undergo?"

Roslin cut herself off and sighed. "I don't understand the details, Sarah," she said impatiently. "Dr. Cottle said that considering my condition, the many risks didn't make much of a difference. I agreed to give it a shot."

"Will it be available to other patients?" Bagot asked, now that Porter had broken the ice.

"We don't know what kind of side effects there will be, or even if the treatment is effective," Roslin answered. "If we can please get back to -" she was cut off once more as Porter rose to her feet.

The thickset woman stood at her place, eyes hard. "Madame President, with all due respect -" she hesitated slightly as Adama angled himself towards her, face stony. Roslin rose as well. Tom recognized it as a challenge. _Go on. Say it. _"With all due respect, you were supposed to die," Porter finished defensively.

Adama joined the two women on his feet. The members of the Quorum watched almost fearfully as he opened his mouth, but Roslin silenced him with a wave of her hand. Resting both of her hands on the table in front of her, she met Porter's eyes unflinchingly. "Yes, I was, wasn't I?" she asked, voice neutral.

"The scrolls of Pythia say that the dying leader will not live to see the promise land," Porter recited. "Madame President, if you are indeed the leader, you should not have survived."

"We're not there yet, Sarah," Roslin said quietly. "I already said that this treatment is unproven. I am in remission. That's all I know for sure." Porter didn't back down, and Roslin narrowed her eyes, clearly ready for this conversation to be over. "I'm sorry if me surviving has put you in a difficult position. But frankly, Sarah, I'm happy to be alive."

Tom, who had been silent from the moment Roslin entered the room, finally stood. "If I may?" he asked, and Roslin shot him a glare before acquiescing. "Whether or not the president is the prophet Pythia was referring to," he said to the room at large, "it's clear that she has and will continue to help us find Earth. She opened the Tomb of Athena and found the map." He turned to face her. "Madame President, I believe I speak for everyone here when I say that regardless of religious roles, we're glad to have you here with us."

Roslin stared at him, an eyebrow partly raised, as though trying to figure out what he was playing at. Studying him, she finally nodded slightly. "Thank you," she said stiffly. "Now, regarding the distribution of the Pegasus supplies..."

--

She stood ramrod straight, eyes glassy and focused on something that no one else could see. Defeat did not suit her well, but Tom knew she wouldn't let on just how deeply this loss had affected her.

"I, Gaius Baltar, do avow and affirm..."

He had won. Roslin and Adama had been taken down, and finally, _finally, _Tom Zarek had a place where he could make a difference. In the end, that's all he had ever wanted, though he knew very few people would believe that. For each of his supporters, there were fifty like Adama, who would just as soon see him tossed out an airlock.

Vice President of the Colonies. It sounded good.

Baltar had been shocked to see her capable of fixing the vote, claiming her to be too high-minded for that. Tom knew better. She truly believed that permanent settlement would be the downfall of this fleet - he could understand that. He'd taken far more drastic measures in proving his points. Hell, she probably had a point; the planet was, for all intents and purposes, a barren wasteland. But it had won them an election, and somewhere along the line, Baltar had come to believe in the message he was delivering. Maybe Laura Roslin would, eventually.

For now, she blinked several times to clear her eyes, and clenched her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. Adama glanced at her, face impassive, but eyes dark. The back of his hand brushed against hers, and she looked at him for a split second before turning away, eyes shining once more. Still, her fists unclenched, and Tom watched as the former president loosely entwined two of her fingers with the admirals.

They stood that way, silent and unmoving, as Baltar became President of the Colonies and signed his first executive order. It was with obvious reluctance that Adama moved forward and accepted his orders. Roslin clasped her hands together in front of her.

And Tom knew that this wouldn't be as easy as he had hoped, not as long as Roslin was here and Adama loyal to her. She was staying on the Galactica - that wouldn't work. No, she would have to go down to New Caprica, and soon.

When Colonial One shuddered and rocked moments later, the entire room took cover, and Tom shut his eyes against the blinding light coming from Cloud Nine. He didn't see Roslin pull Adama down, or Adama covering his head with one arm and her with the other. He just held on and waited for the shaking to stop.

--

"Admiral Adama," Tom greeted, holding out a hand to the older man as he stepped out of the Raptor. "Welcome to New Caprica."

"Mr. Vice President," Adama replied, jaw clenched. Tom felt a thrill of vindication at hearing his title on Adama's lips - the admiral would never respect him, but he respected the chain of command. "When does the ceremony begin?"

"Two hours," he replied. "We have a tent ready for you, I'm sure Mr. Gaeta wouldn't mind escorting you -"

"Actually," Adama said, and Tom suddenly noticed a hint of a smirk on his lips. "I've already arranged lodging. But thank you for your concern. Mr. Gaeta, if you would point me towards Ms. Roslin's tent?"

Ah. Of course. Tom felt like an idiot for not having seen it coming. Adama looked as smug as he had ever seen him, and Tom inclined his head, as if to commend him for his play. Gaeta just looked surprised. "She's teaching right now," he said. "The school tent is that big one over there, if you'd like to head over."

"Thank you," Adama returned impassively. He didn't wait for a dismissal before heading off in the direction Gaeta had pointed out. The young aide looked a little hurt at Adama's clear contempt, but brushed it off. They had work to do.

The ceremony went off without a hitch, and Tom spent the next several hours shaking hands and meeting with the thousands of civilians who had shown up for the event. Baltar had disappeared shortly after breaking ground - he had been talking with a young redhead last Tom had seen him.

He didn't see Adama again until dusk, when the parties were beginning to get rowdier. Roslin was with him, though Tom wasn't sure he would have recognized her without the company she was keeping. In the weeks since she'd settled, he had hardly seen her - he'd been busy establishing a civilization and she had thrown herself into her school. Up close, it was clear that civilian life agreed with her, though she would never admit it; her hair was longer and windswept, eyes bright and a little clouded, and she was wearing a red dress that gave him a newfound appreciation for the new trading system. The two were standing outside one of the makeshift bars, and as he watched, she threw her head back in laughter. A cigarette dangled from her fingers.

One of the waiters circling the area offered them a drink, which Roslin accepted and took a sip from before holding it out to Adama. He drank as well, making a face as he swallowed. She laughed again, moving a little bit closer as a breeze swept through - there were only inches seperating them.

An elderly man approached Tom, distracting him with concerns about the remaining ships in orbit, and it wasn't until fifteen minutes later that he looked back at where Roslin and Adama had been standing. They were gone.

--

They had been on New Caprica for seven months, and Tom had to admit that the initial euphoria had worn off sometime during the winter. It reminded him of Aerelon, one of the largest of the colonies but the most sparsely populated - their winters and summers were both extreme, and six years ago most of the colony had to evacuate when temperatures hit one of the lowest points on record. Winter on New Caprica had dealt them heavy losses; Tom's assistant had lost a daughter to the flu. Baltar wasn't helping by holing up on Colonial One and refusing to attend large public gatherings. To make up for it, Tom found himself stretched thinner than ever, constantly reassuring the public that everything would be fine.

Rumors of a strike had reached him the day before. This was a heavy blow - New Caprica's workforce was vital in utilizing what little heat they had. He'd arranged a meeting with Tyrol, the union president, for this afternoon.

Walking down the main street, Tom tried not to wince as he realized just how far the administration had sunk in terms of public opinion - in the past, he'd been greeted with cheerful smiles and waves. Now the only waves he received were one-fingered.

"Mr. Zarek," someone said from behind him. Turning, he raised an eyebrow. Last he'd heard Laura Roslin had been stuck in her tent, guarded by Tory Foster and her teaching assistant, as she rode out her own bout of the flu. "I didn't realize that you dared venture out these days."

She was thin, far more so than he had been the last time he saw her. "Now more than ever," he replied. "I'm not going to abandon the people when they need me." Laura looked skeptical, but fell into step with him. "Shouldn't you be in school right now?"

"I have six children in my class right now," she said, and he didn't miss the strain in her voice. "The rest are either sick or not allowed out of their parents sight. I've given them lessons that can be done at home." She looked at him. "I sent a memo to the president's office nearly two weeks ago. I needed paper for them to do their assignments, slates won't work for this sort of thing."

Tom frowned. "I never heard about that. I'll see what I can do, there's got to be - " she cut him off.

"No, Admiral Adama sent over enough to last for awhile." She smiled sardonically. "But thank you for the thought."

"You know, Laura, there's a chain of command," Tom began, fighting a smirk as her eyebrows shot up at his use of her first name. "Next time come to me before bothering the military."

Roslin pulled her sweater tighter around her. "Yes, there is a chain of command," she agreed. "Unfortunately for everyone, it's crap." She smiled sweetly at him. "And the admiral was the one who contacted me, he'd heard that I was sick and wanted to know if there was anything he could do. Good day, Mr. Zarek."

--

He wasn't really surprised to see Laura Roslin on the truck. It had been four months since he'd had any idea of what was happening on New Caprica, but if he knew anything about this woman, it was that she wouldn't roll over. She'd proven that much.

"Need a lift, Mr. Vice President?" she asked, smiling. It occured to him that this was the first genuine smile she'd ever given him - now, as they faced their deaths. He grinned in return and felt a little of the fear dissipate as she continued. "I haven't seen much of you these days. Been busy these days, hmm?" The smirk on her lips was steady and unafraid.

"Well, there's not much to do in detention," he replied. Her face softened as he continued. "I told Baltar I wouldn't have any part of collaborating with the cylons and he, ah, got a little pissed."

"He's a little pissed at me, too," Laura said, raising her hands to show the plastic binding. She seemed proud of the fact, and he smiled once more.

They didn't talk much after that - one of the Brother Cavils joined them in the back, and the truck made so much noise as it grinded along that they would have had to shout to be heard anyway. He watched her, though, from the corner of his eye; she looked relaxed as ever, but her hands twisted in her lap.

As they slowed to a stop, her eyes flashed and he felt her tense against him before forcibly unclenching. Staring at her, she grinned, and turned back to face the people across from them. He realized, then, why she was so determinedly calm. She had to be - the others were looking to her. They were looking to the schoolteacher for the support they couldn't get from the Vice President.

And he knew in that moment that it was over. He told her as much, after she admitted to fixing the election - _I wish you'd gone through with it. _He wondered if she believed him - maybe she did, because she pulled him down the way she had Adama after Cloud Nine exploded, and held onto him as gunfire erupted around them.

She felt good against him - it had been a long time since anyone had thrown him to the ground, he told her, but he had forgotten just how nice it was to have an attractive woman pressed to him. Maybe...his thoughts trailed off as Tyrol called down to them.

"We're going home. Admiral Adama's on his way." Laura stiffened, as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "We're getting off this rock and going back to Galactica."

He saw the moment 17 months of tension lifted from her shoulders, and she doubled over in such obvious relief that he almost didn't notice the complete lack of surprise. Staring into the sky, her features eased in a way that he realized no one but Adama could ever manage, and all the half-formed thoughts in his mind disappeared.

--

"You will not have military support. I want to make that very clear," Adama growled the moment he entered the room.

Tom looked up from the report he was reading. "I wouldn't expect anything less," he conceded, and allowed himself a moment to relish the flicker of surprise on the admiral's face. "I've been thinking about it, and have decided that the fleet needs stability right now. They won't get that with the civilian government at odds with the military. Tomorrow, I will assemble the Quorum of Twelve, and nominate Laura Roslin for Vice President. They will vote for her, and as soon as she is sworn in, I will step down, and she will become President once more." He paused. "I assume, of course, that the military will accept this alternative. If not, well, name a candidate."

Yes, the expression on Adama's face was something that he would treasure for a long, long time. "And what do you want in return?" Adama asked, eyes narrowed. Tom shrugged.

"A voice in the government. Laura will have final say on that matter, I'm meeting with her in ten minutes." He couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice.

Adama shook his head. "That won't be necessary," he said. "You have 3 days."

--

Of all the people who might have betrayed the President, Lee Adama was not one Tom ever would have considered. Not even in the top hundred. Yet there he was, in a civilian suit, and the look in his eyes is one that Tom is all too familiar with.

"Did you take something called chamalla extract?" Lee asked, and the lines on her face tighten. She nodded once. "And isn't it true that the visions that you you o­nce described as messages from the Gods were actually the result of a pharmacological reaction from taking chamalla?"

"The chamalla did enable me to see certain things that were foretold by the scriptures," she confirmed, "things that will help this fleet find its way to Earth. You of all people should know that, Major," she added quietly.

Lee moved closer, and Tom saw the unmistakable fear in her eyes as she whispered something unintelligible, and then the utter resignation as he asked the question. A bitter half-smile twitched at her lips. "Chamalla, Madame President. Perhaps dissolved in your tea to mask the bitterness."

Adama stood so suddenly that the woman next to Tom stiffened. "Don't answer," he commanded forcefully, fury etched in every crevice of his face. "I'm putting a stop to this right now." Laura didn't look at him, just continued smiling that sad smile and staring at something past Apollo.

The gratitude that he felt surprised him. He and Adama are on the same side for once, it seemed. "One more word from you and you'll both be held for contempt," the admiral barked, and though Tom knew that this was far from over, it was good to see someone defending the broken looking woman on the stand.

It wasn't enough. "Madame President, are you taking chamalla again?" the judge asked, and the courtroom grew so thick with silence that it was uncomfortable. Laura nodded.

"Yes, I am."

The moment Lee Adama stepped away, his father twitched, as though he wanted to run after him and make him take it back. Laura spoke before he had a chance. "Mr. Adama, aren't you going to ask me why?"

It was in that instant that everything made sense, and when she confirmed it – _I am taking chamalla again because my cancer has returned _– Tom understood just how deep of a betrayal this truly was.

Adama knew, he had to - he didn't look shocked, just heartbroken. The press erupted around them but the admiral merely stood, made his way to the president, and took her arm. She didn't look at him as he led her from the courtroom, but her knuckles were white on his jacket and she leaned more heavily against him than usual, as though he was the only thing holding her up.


End file.
